


The Lighthouse Keeper

by adiwriting



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Panic Attacks, mentions of captivity and torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27746590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adiwriting/pseuds/adiwriting
Summary: Michael has been held captive for 156 days. So long that he's lost all hope. But it's Christmas and he's about to get a miracle.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 155
Kudos: 170





	1. Don't resist the rain and storm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ninhursag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/gifts).



> This fic is a Christmas gift for Nin, who requested Michael getting unexpectedly rescued and Liz+Michael friendship. I hope this is enough Michael hurt/comfort for an evil Michael liker ;)

Michael closes his eyes and rests his head against the wall, taking slow and steady breaths. The sound of laughter on the other side of the wall makes its way to his ears and if he listens close enough, he can hear the faint melody of ‘Joy to the World.’ The men outside are celebrating, which means it must be Christmas. 

Huh. 

He’d been doing his best to keep track of the days, but time has gotten away from him and he’d stopped trying about the time he realized nobody was coming for him. 

They don’t give him a window, so he has no natural light to tell if it’s day or night. The fluorescent lights above his head never go off. He’s always brightly lit like the lab rat he is. Early on, he’d been able to count the days by counting his meals, but after one too many torture sessions, his sense of time grew increasingly less accurate. By the time he’d hit what he could only guess was day 50, he realized counting at all was pointless. 

Only now, he knows it’s Christmas. Michael has a definitive time stamp to track his time in captivity. 

156 days. 

He’s been here, living out his worst nightmares for five months and two days. 

The first few days after they had taken him, he’d been so confident that somebody would come for him. He’d thought for sure that Max and Isobel would burn the world to the ground to find him. That Alex would hack every system in the world to find his location. He just had to stay strong long enough for the cavalry to arrive. 

Even after the first few weeks had passed and some of the worst experiments had taken place, he’d still believed that his family was looking for him. That Isobel was getting into the mind of any and everyone that could know something. That Max was calling in every favor he’d earned from his time as a deputy. That Alex was utilizing his military contacts. That Maria would have a vision. Hell, he’d even believed Liz had been working on leads, even from California. 

He doesn’t believe any of those things anymore. He knows better. Nobody is looking for him. Nobody misses him. He’s not even sure anybody has noticed he’s gone. And even if they have, they are all better off without him. 

He is going to die in this barren cell. Just like his mom died in Caulfield. And at the rate these so-called scientists are going, he won’t make it a year, much less 70. But what options does he have? He’d tried to escape early on. He’d put his genius brain to work and come up with plan after plan, but they’d all failed and each time they’d brutally tortured him as punishment. He eventually stopped trying. Operant conditioning at its most effective. 

The music on the other side of the wall gets louder as that cheesy Mariah Carey song comes on that Michael hates. Isobel always plays it on repeat every year, as if no other Christmas songs exist. She doesn’t understand good music. Won’t even listen to  _ Elvis’ Christmas Album _ . 

God, he misses arguing with Isobel about music. He misses bickering with Max about how to prepare the prime rib on Christmas Eve properly. He misses Sander’s making him hang the single strand of tinsel the shop owns so it’s more festive and then grumbling at him over the sounds of Dolly Parton’s Christmas album. He misses Arturo’s smile as he invites him in for a milkshake each year, telling him nobody should be alone on Christmas Day. He misses Maria sassing him about how he should pay his tab as a Christmas present to her. Or her annoyed sigh when, at some point, something breaks and he refuses to fix it until she clears his tab. 

Hell, he even misses Alex’s embarrassed smile and shrug the few Christmases he’d shown up on his doorstep with a six-pack in his hand and an apology on his tongue. It didn’t happen often that Alex got leave over the holidays, but Michael cherished each one they spent together. Even if they’d always eventually ended with a fight and Alex walking away. That decade after high school hadn’t been kind to them, but right about now, Michael would give anything to go back. 

His body aches. He can’t find a comfortable position that doesn’t make him want to cry out, but he learned long ago that making any sound won’t end well for him. So instead he grits his teeth and forces his mind to think of other things. 

Isobel and Max are probably at their parents’ house baking Christmas cookies, watching some ridiculous Christmas movie, and having a holiday straight out of Leave It to Beaver. Liz would have come home for the holiday and is spending it with Rosa and her dad. Arturo always keeps the diner open for the people who don’t have anywhere to go on Christmas. Maria would have spent the morning with her mother, but had the Pony open by 4pm for one of the busiest nights of the year. She always cleans up well from all the locals who have had about enough family togetherness. 

And Alex… Well, he is celebrating Christmas with Forrest, isn’t he? Isn’t that what happy, functioning couples do? He can just picture them cuddled up under a blanket together, listening to Christmas music, and enjoying each other’s company. Maybe they’d even traveled for the holidays? Spent them at Forrest’s parents? They’ll have been together long enough by now for something serious like that. 

It’s good. Alex deserves that. He deserves more than some hastily cooked meal in his airstream. The only decor: a single strand of Christmas lights hung up, half of the bulbs burnt out. It’s better that he’s gone. Alex can move on without the memory of him hanging around. 

The world without Michael in it is better. 

The military can go on assuming that they've found the last of his kind in him, and his family can live in peace. Free from fear and persecution. He’s nearly positive these idiots believe his sob story of being left alone in the desert as a child, living alone his entire life. 

He lays down and pulls his knees to his body for warmth. They don’t give him things like blankets anymore. Not since that one doctor evaluated him and determined he couldn’t be trusted with anything in his cell… Whatever that means. It’s not like he could suffocate a doctor or something with a pillow, they never open his cell without drugging him first. And it’s not like he has any energy these days to hurt himself. Even if he tried, they’d see what he was doing and stop him before he ever got anywhere. 

Michael isn’t suicidal, though he probably should be in a place like this. 

If his mom survived 70 years in captivity, he can take a few months. Besides, as long as they are focused on him, they aren’t focused on finding others like him. His family can live their lives. Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be? 

He crosses his arms and rubs them, trying to get warm, but it’s futile. He closes his eyes and prays for sleep to come. 

****

Michael wakes up to the feeling of somebody shaking him. It’s not a new feeling. He’s used to being manhandled. Nobody here treats him like he’s a person, they all poke and prod at him like he’s an object. It doesn’t matter that he looks like them, he’s not one of them. Therefore, he doesn’t deserve any kind of compassion. 

What is new, is that he doesn’t feel the drugs slowly moving through his system, paralyzing him. They never open his cell without subduing him first. He’s too dangerous otherwise, even without his powers. At least that’s what the lead scientist had said. He’d called Michael a weapon of mass destruction. It’s laughable. Without his telekinesis, he’s no better or stronger than the next guy. 

Still, he doesn’t argue it. Being a WMD benefits him in some ways. It keeps the guards from doing anything more than verbally harassing him when they get bored. He can only imagine the things they would do to him if they weren’t so scared of him. 

Hands shake at his shoulders again. 

“Michael,” a familiar voice whispers in his ear. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter. 

Hallucinations. 

He’s grown used to them. They set in when the pain he’s experiencing grows beyond the point of being bearable, but not so horrible that he passes out. He cannot count the number of times he’s hallucinated his mother holding him and promising him that everything will be okay. Or the times he’s woken up to the smell of eggs cooking and the feeling of sofa springs poking at his back and Sander’s dog drooling into his neck. Many times, his brain takes him back to the airstream, waking up to Alex kissing his way down his chest, smiling up at him brightly when he realizes that he’s awake. 

Then there are the rescue fantasies. Time might have gotten away from him here, but if he was a guessing man, he’d say that at least four times a week his brain feeds him elaborate escape fantasies. He hallucinates Alex showing up in a blaze of gunfire to rescue him. Isobel throws open the doors of his cell while Max fights off the guards behind her with bolts of lightning. 

They are always vivid and feel so real. That’s the beauty of the brain. It has the tremendous ability to protect itself when reality is too much. And all too often these days, reality is too much. Pain is too great. 

“Mikey, wake up,” the voice whispers again, sounding frantic. 

It’s odd. He’s had a lot of rescue fantasies, but never is Liz the one breaking him out. It’s an interesting choice for his brain to land on. He cracks his eyes open and sees Liz crouched beside him, dressed in a white lab coat, a blonde wig, and thick glasses. He’s not sure what his mind has in store for him tonight, but he’s not in the mood for it. 

Hope is for suckers. 

“You’re not real.” 

He rolls over so he’s facing the wall. It places his back to the door, which isn’t great for defense, but he’s hoping the Christmas party going on is enough to have earned him a night off from their experimenting. 

“We don’t have a lot of time, I need you to get up.” Liz pulls on his shoulder and rolls him over onto his back. He hisses as one of the more painful bruises makes itself known. 

“Ay dios mio, what have they done to you?” 

Her fingers run through his hair, gently detangling what must be a complete mess. It feels good. It’s been so long since anyone touched him in kindness. She feels real, but then again, they always do. 

“Why you?” he asks, figuring if his brain is going to keep up with this fantasy of Liz Ortecho showing up instead of the person he most wants to see, then his brain can at least explain why. 

“Because it’s Christmas and I’m not showing up to the party empty-handed.” She smiles, but he can see the stress in her face. Another odd choice for his brain to make. “Now let’s go.” 

Michael shakes his head. The moment his brain starts to play out this rescue is the moment the stopwatch starts. She’ll take his hands and pull him to his feet. His brain will let him believe she got the cell door open. They’ll run down the hall together, dodging security and doctors along the way. He may even regain the use of his powers and be able to use them to knock out some guards. The moment they exit the building, the hallucination will fade away and he’ll be right back where he started. Alone in his cell. Or even worse, strapped down to a table while scientists run another test. 

He doesn’t want that. Not tonight. Not while he can still hear the Christmas music and laughter on the other side of the wall, and he’s feeling more lonely than he’s felt in weeks. 

“Just sit with me,” he says instead. “I don’t want to be alone at Christmas.” 

Liz isn’t his first choice of company, but she’s a good friend. One of his best friends, in fact. He enjoys being around her. And while he’d rather be able to talk to Alex or Isobel and Max, if she is who his brain is giving him, he’ll take it. Anything to distract him from reality. 

“You won’t be,” she assures him. “But first we have to get you out of here before anybody notices what’s happening.” 

She grabs onto his wrists until he’s sitting up, his body protesting the movement. How kind of his hallucination to provide him with realistic aches… Really make it feel real. 

“I’m not strong enough to carry you, so I need you to help me,” she says. 

Michael snorts. “You’re a result of my sensory cortex going into overload and my frontal lobe shutting down because of trauma, and yet you can’t carry me in this made up scenario?” 

“You think you’re hallucinating.” She’s looking at him like he’s some puzzle to solve. 

“Don’t make me one of your science experiments, Ortecho. I get enough of that in here.” 

She looks like she wants to say more, but doesn’t. Instead, she pulls on his wrists until he’s standing, then puts one of his arms over her shoulder and walks him towards the open cell door. Each step is painful. His spine is a mess from all the testing they’ve done. His legs ache. He hasn’t moved enough in the last few months to be in shape. The simple movements have him winded, lungs expanding in a search for air, irritating what he’s sure are cracked ribs. 

“You’ve got this,” she says. “I’m getting you out of here and we’re going home.” 

Home. It’s a nice dream. 

****

Alarms blare above them, making his ears ring and his head pound. Liz grips his hand tightly as they crowd together in a supply closet. Her other hand types away at her phone frantically. He doesn’t have the energy to look at who she’s texting. It wouldn’t matter. None of this is real anyways, and he’s so drained he can barely hold his own head up. 

There’s shouting outside as the guards search for him. People run up and down the hall on the other side of the door. Everyone is yelling about finding Prisoner Zero. That’s Michael. Prisoner Zero. He wonders how long it will take for them to get caught and when they do, when this hallucination will fade away and he’ll have to face the reality of whatever experiment they’ve currently got him going through that has his lungs burning. 

“I’m going to get you out of here,” Liz whispers so quietly that he almost doesn’t hear her. 

“It’s okay,” he tells her as the world fades into black. 

“Michael? Michael—” 

****

When Michael wakes up, he’s surprised to find himself in the middle of a gunfight in a sunny parking lot. Typically, his rescue fantasies start out slow and build up to the action, but this one has him thrown right into the center of it. 

There’s a man that looks vaguely familiar holding him up while shooting at the guards. Liz is fumbling with keys, trying to get a car unlocked. 

There are bullets flying and people yelling. 

Then there’s blood and screaming. 

Michael uses every ounce of energy he has in his body to draw on his power, praying he’s far enough away from the building for the yellow powder to no longer incapacitate him. It takes everything in him to stop the bullets, freezing them in their spot, inches from Liz’s body. His own body protests. It feels like somebody is clawing at his brain. He trembles, but he continues to hold the bullets back. Liz gets the car open and they all climb inside the car just as his power wanes. The bullets hit the car, but they are already speeding off. He gathers just enough energy to blow the tires of every remaining car in the lot before he passes out. 

****

There’s an argument happening outside of his cell. He can’t make out the words yet, but the tone is clear. If his captors are arguing over him, it’s never a good sign. It means somebody has an ethical concern and is about to get fired. And if one of these sick fucks has an ethical concern, then whatever they have planned for the day has to be exceptionally awful. 

“I still don’t understand why you refuse to let me take you to a hospital?” 

“Because we can’t show up at a hospital without alerting the world to our location.” 

“You’re bleeding.” 

“It’s just a scratch, I’m fine.” 

That voice sounds like Liz, which is odd. This would be the first time one of his hallucinations went on for so long. His mind must be well and truly fucked at this point. 

“They shot you!” 

“It grazed me.” 

Michael can’t place the other voice that she’s talking to, which is odd. If his mind is making up some alternate reality for him to escape into, it can only really pull from people he’s met before. He opens his eyes and is surprised to see that he’s in the back seat of a car. He can’t say this is a favorite hallucination of his. He’d much rather have woken up in the airstream next to a naked and smiling Alex. Or on Isobel’s couch as she flips through cheesy Hallmark movies. 

“Are we really splitting hairs here? A bullet hit you and that is why you won’t stop bleeding.” 

Bleeding? He’s momentarily confused before he remembers Liz got shot in his last hallucination. With great effort, he sits up, groaning along the way. Neither party standing outside the car notices. 

“It’s not serious. It didn’t hit any major arteries and I have hours before I’m even at risk for bleeding out,” she says. 

The man laughs, though he clearly finds no humor in the situation. “Well, that’s a relief.” 

Diego? Michael thinks the man is Diego, Liz’s ex-fiance from Denver. The one who made her the job offer of a lifetime in California, prompting her to leave them all behind. He’s only seen the guy in pictures over social media. Ones Isobel showed him early on when they’d still been trying to run Liz out of town. Ones Max has shoved in his face as he cried into his beer about Liz running off to California with her ex. 

“I’m fine. Once I get to Roswell, I’ll let Kyle stitch me up,” she says. “But we have to get Michael back home. We can’t afford to be intercepted. We can’t fight them off again if they find us. We need backup.” 

“At least let me go with you.” 

“You’re the decoy. As long as they are looking for you and your car, they won’t be looking for us.” 

This right here is the crack team his brain wants him to believe broke him out of an underground, government run facility. It’s amusing. 

He knocks on the window, prompting both of them to turn and look at him. He rolls down the window and lays his head back against the headrest, barely able to keep it up. He feels like he could sleep for a thousand years and it would never be enough. 

“If you two are done, I’d like to get home before this fantasy fades,” he says. The effort of talking causes his lungs to feel like they are on fire. 

Maybe if he’s lucky, this dream of his will hold out long enough to get a genuine hug from his siblings. To crawl into bed with Alex and let him hold him as he cries. 

“Of course,” Liz says, opening the door for him. “Come on, we’re switching cars.” 

Michael attempts to crawl out of the back seat, but the moment he moves to stand, his vision swims and his legs give out. The last thing he sees is Liz’s concerned face as Diego catches him. 

****

Michael slowly drifts back into consciousness, processing the gentle rocking of a car along with the sound of 90s alt rock. His brain is still foggy and refusing to follow orders in a timely fashion. It takes some time, but he finally pries his eyes open. Liz is driving in the front seat. It’s dark outside, she’s just barely illuminated from the lights of the highway. 

He gathers his energy and pushes himself up into a seated position, biting down on the inside of his cheek against the pain the movement sends through his spine and the ever present burning as his ribs push painfully against his ribs making it hard to breathe normally. 

“Hey,” Liz says softly, looking at him through the rear-view mirror. “You’re up.” 

He doesn’t respond. There’s no point. Liz is a figment of his imagination and thus, she can read his mind and know exactly what he’s thinking. Why strain himself? 

He looks out the window, taking in the stars. God, how he misses the stars. Misses laying in the back of his truck in the middle of the desert, far away from all the light pollution that blocks the infinite beauty of the night sky. 

He catches sight of the billboard for Peppers Grill & Bar, and his heart skips a beat. He’s driven US-70 often enough working the tow for Sanders. They are 17 minutes outside of town. He’s not sure why his brain can’t just fast forward this part and let him be home already. 

“How are you feeling?” Liz asks. 

Michael doesn’t answer her. She should know that he feels like shit. She wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t in severe pain and working hard to block it out. 

“Right, stupid question,” she says. “We’ll be home soon. Kyle is already on his way over to check you out.” 

Home. He’s not sure he even knows what that is anymore. An empty Airstream now tainted by the memory of being dragged out of it under the cover of night? 

Liz turns off the main road before they make it into the main part of town, and Michael knows instantly where she’s taking him. The only person who lives on this side of town is Alex. His heart tightens in his chest and his eyes water. He bites the inside of his cheeks as emotion overwhelms him. He prays his brain will hold out long enough to lay eyes on Alex. Even if it’s not real, he just wants to see him before passing out from whatever torture they are inflicting on him leading to such a prolonged hallucination. 

Liz turns onto Alex’s street. The houses are all brightly lit with colorful Christmas lights, but when they pull up to Alex’s place, he’s surprised to find it dark apart from the porch light. He holds his breath and his stomach twists in knots as they park. Alex’s car is in the driveway right next to Isobel’s. Liz turns off the car and looks back at him. 

“You ready?” 

She doesn’t wait for an answer. She steps out of the car and comes around the side to open his door. The air is icy and he shivers. He looks down to see that he’s still in his dirty old prison uniform. Liz shrugs out of her coat and puts it around his shoulders, which only serves to make him feel even more vulnerable. 

She holds out her hand for him, but he can’t take it. Even though he knows this entire thing isn’t real, somehow he still feels nervous. Embarrassed. He doesn’t want to be seen like this. He doesn’t want to interrupt. It’s Christmas, what if everyone is busy celebrating? What if they aren’t happy to see him? 

“Come on,” Liz says with an understanding smile. “Everyone will be relieved to see you.” 

She reaches for his hand and tugs gently until he follows her willingly. It takes some time, and he has to lean heavily against the car afterwards, but he gets out of the backseat. She places his arm around her shoulder and grabs onto his waist for support as they slowly make their way up the driveway and towards the front door. His body aches, but it’s drowned out by the butterflies growing in his stomach. 

They make it up the driveway painstakingly slow, but by the time they are stepping onto Alex’s front patio, he can’t do it anymore. His lungs are on fire and his back is screaming at him. His legs can’t support him and neither can Liz. He slides against the wall and into a pile of firewood. 

Liz tries to get him to move, but he waves her on, needing more than a moment. He lays back against the wood and closes his eyes, trying to will his body to stop feeling pain, though it’s pointless. These hallucinations of his are a pleasant distraction from whatever those assholes are doing to him, but they can’t overpower reality and the genuine pain he’s in. 

“Don’t move,” she instructs him, as if he’s in any danger of that. They are sitting here because he can’t move. 

He listens to her walk away and knock on the front door. He can’t make out what’s being said, but it doesn’t sound good. Alex sounds angry, and Michael should have known better than to just show up here unannounced. Even in his dreams, he’s not good enough for Alex. 

Michael hears a shocked gasp and opens his eyes just in time to see Alex moving towards him. Alex’s arms go around him and the touch shocks his system. It takes a moment to process it. The arms around him, hands grasping desperately at his shirt… The nose buried in his curls while his breath tickles his ear… It’s all so real. More real than any of his hallucinations have ever been before. 

He takes a big, shuddering breath as reality sinks in. His arms move around Alex, clinging to him for dear life, terrified that he’s going to slip away. That he’ll evaporate into thin air. That he’s going to wake up in his cell and this will have all been a dream. 

“Oh my god,” Isobel says, gasping in shock. She’s instantly at his back, clinging to him. 

With both of them holding him close, protecting him from the world, he can’t help but cry as the trauma of the last five months hits him. This is real. He’s free. 

He’s home. 


	2. I'll never leave you lost at sea

Alex sits beside him on the bed, arms around his shoulder, supporting most of his weight since he’s still too weak to support himself. Every minute or so, he leans his forehead against Michael and whispers his gratitude that Michael came home to him. A Christmas miracle, he keeps saying.

It’s sappy and cliche in a way that Michael never expected from Alex, but he doesn’t disagree with him. Being able to come home after so long  _ is _ a Christmas miracle. Michael had given up all hope of ever seeing his family again. 

Isobel is at his feet, holding onto one of his ankles like she’s scared he’s going to disappear if she lets go. She trains her eyes on his face, calculating, looking like she wants nothing more than to tap into his mind and get every horrible detail out of him, but she’s restraining herself. There’s no way for her to get the details from his mindscape without making him relive his horror. 

Maria and Liz are sitting in the corner of the room, sharing an armchair, Rosa at their feet. Liz is holding her side in what everyone else would likely see as casual, but Michael knows is anything but. She’s still bleeding from earlier. The rescue that he’d assumed was a hallucination all happened. Liz and Diego really had saved him. Liz really was shot in the process. It was all real. 

Kyle looms over him, stethoscope in hand and a look of concern on his face that nobody wants to see from their doctor. 

“Well?” Isobel asks impatiently. “Is he okay or what?” 

“Of course he’s not okay, look at him. He looks like él está muerto,” Rosa says, but Isobel ignores her. 

“It’s not that simple,” Kyle says, and Michael’s stomach drops to his knees. Of course it’s not. He survived five months of captivity, only to make it home and die. “He needs more tests than I can run at home.” 

“He’s not going to a hospital,” Isobel says firmly. 

“He’s right here,” Michael says. The effort it takes to speak winds him. He tries to take in a big breath, but it causes him to wince. 

“It’s okay,” Alex says, attempting to run his fingers through his matted hair, turning back to Kyle. “What do you need most?”

Kyle rubs his face and sighs, shaking his head. He looks nearly as exhausted as Michael feels. 

“I guess an X-Ray?” he says, holding his hands out like he’s not entirely sure. Which isn’t all that comforting. “I need to make sure his ribs aren’t in danger of puncturing his lung, at which point he would need a chest tube. His breathing sounds okay right now, so I’m not worried about pneumonia… I really need to do blood work to see what they’ve been injecting him with to know if he’s in danger of withdrawal symptoms. If he’s going to have them, they’ll probably start showing up in the next hour or so and I need to know what they gave him to know how to treat it. Assuming that alien bodies even process the same way as ours. And I also think a CT is important. With all the bruising, I worry he might have more serious internal bleeding that won’t heal on its own.” 

“That all, Doc?” Michael asks, attempting to make light of the situation, as his stomach continues to twist itself into knots. 

“I have the equipment in my car to do a blood workup,” Liz says, standing up. 

“Haven’t you done enough?” Isobel asks. Maria immediately chastises her. 

Liz looks around the room with tears in her eyes, and Michael doesn’t understand what’s going on, but it’s clear he’s missed something. 

“I’ll go get my stuff,” she says, walking out of the room. 

“I can’t believe she showed up here,” Isobel says. 

“She rescued Michael,” Alex says pointedly. 

“Yeah? And how do we know she’s not the reason he got taken in the first place?” she bites back. 

Well, now it’s obvious that he missed something. 

“It’s Christmas, can’t we all just get along for a day? Focus on Michael being back,” Maria says. 

Isobel just rolls her eyes. 

“You should probably go check on her,” Michael tells Kyle. “She said it was just a graze, but she hasn’t stopped bleeding since she got shot.” 

Every head in the room instantly turns to him. 

“Shot?! Like  _ shot _ shot? With a bullet?!” Rosa exclaims, jumping to her feet and running out of the room, muttering to herself in Spanish. 

Kyle looks alarmed. “He’ll probably be fine until Max can get here, but make sure he doesn’t strain himself and puncture a lung. And get me if his condition changes at all, even the slightest bit,” he tells them, hurrying out of the room after Liz. 

“Care to tell me how Liz got shot?” Alex asks, his voice doing that thing it does whenever he’s in uniform. Michael doesn’t really want to give a situation report at the moment. Or ever. 

“There were bullets, I don’t know,” he says, completely drained. “It’s all a blur. I just want to sleep.” 

Isobel squeezes his ankle. “Max should be here in two hours,” she says. “Rest. You look gross.” 

Michael lets out the approximation of a snort, it’s all his body can handle. “Love you too, Iz.” 

She looks like she’s about to cry and turns her back to him, not letting go of his ankle. He tries to sit up and reach for her, but it pulls at his back and has him crying out in pain. Alex guides him back down into a more comfortable position against him. 

“Shhh, it can wait til later,” Alex whispers into his ear. “We will still be here when you wake up.” 

****

“Where is he?!” 

Michael wakes up with a start at the commotion in the living room. He sits up suddenly, eyes moving around the room, frantically looking for an exit plan. His mind instantly goes to the worst-case scenario. They are here. They’ve found him. They are taking him back. 

“Hey, it’s just Max, it’s okay,” Isobel tells him as Alex rubs his back comfortingly. Michael doesn’t miss how Alex immediately grabbed a gun when they’d been woken up at all the noise. 

The door flies open and there’s a blur of movement that Michael can barely process before he has his arms full of Max. 

“Thank god, do you have any idea how worried we’ve been?” Max asks, squeezing him so tight that it hurts, but Michael says nothing about it. He’s too relieved to care. His arms go around Max, holding him close. 

Max pulls away to look him over, hands moving over his body, checking for what Michael isn’t entirely sure. That he still has all of his fingers and toes? Who knows? “Are you okay? Well, no. That’s a stupid question. Of course you’re not okay. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m just glad to be home,” he says, his voice weak, hardly able to form all the syllables. His head swims and his vision blurs for several moments as he falls back against the bed, unable to hold himself up any longer. Max’s eyes go instantly to Isobel. 

“Kyle could only do so much,” Isobel explains. “You need to heal him. Start with his ribs and then his spine. Those seem to be the worst.”

Max nods, then turns back to Michael. “Are you okay if I heal you?” 

He could make a quip about how he didn’t wait for his approval when he healed his hand, but he’s not really looking for a fight. And right about now he’s in a great deal of pain and just wants it to stop. He nods. 

Max slips his hand under his collar to rest against his heart, and braces his other hand against the bed. They make eye contact and Max gives him one last look, asking for permission. 

“Please,” he whispers, the word coming out slurred. He doesn’t have to look to Isobel or Alex to know they are worried. He can feel the energy in the room shift. The anxiety rise. 

A moment later, there’s a heat against his chest followed by a foreign energy that courses through him, concentrating around his ribs. The lights in the room flicker and the entire mattress shakes. Max’s grunts grow louder as his rubs fuse themselves back together until they are whole once more. The tears in his lungs stitch themselves until he can breathe more easily. 

The bed continues to shake. Max’s eyes squeeze closed and his face looks pained as the heat travels to Michael’s back, focusing on his injured spine. The lights above spark until they eventually shatter along with the bedside lamps. Max cries out in pain, but he doesn’t stop, even as Michael can hear Isobel asking if he’s okay. By the time the heat makes it to the top of his spine, Max is collapsing against him. 

“Maybe you need a break,” Isobel tells him, as Alex helps gently roll Max off of him and onto his side. 

“No,” Max argues, but the moment Isobel shoves the garbage can under his nose, he barfs. She passes him a bottle of acetone. He takes a swig before handing it back. “I need to keep going.” 

Max turns to Michael and reaches out again. His hand finds its way back to his heart and Micheal feels the warm heat again move through him. This time it finds his heart. It’s weird. He wouldn’t say he’s ever really noticed his heart muscles before, but with the heat concentrated on them, he can feel them growing stronger and it takes away so much of the strain he hadn’t even realized was there. He’s been living with so much trauma that his body forgot what normal even feels like. 

Max yells out and the lights in the bathroom flicker and shatter. If the scream coming from the living room is any indication, he’s willing to bet that Max blew out all the electronics in the entire house. The heat fades quickly, even as Max continues to push himself to keep going. But what was once a burning heat is barely lukewarm. Whatever battery Max had is now dead. He’s used up all of his juice. Still he keeps trying, even as Isobel begs him to stop. 

Finally, Michael reaches out to grab his hand and pull it off of him. 

“I need to keep trying,” he argues, his words slurring. He leans over and vomits again into the garbage can. Isobel rubs his back as Michael pats his arm in sympathy. He’s been there, with the burnt out powers. It’s a bitch on the system. Pushing it will not do any good, and it will only delay the return of his powers. 

“You can keep going in the morning,” Michael says. 

Max turns and glares at him, though Michael can barely make it out given that the only source of light in the room is the moonlight shining through the blinds. 

“I’m not leaving you to suffer ‘til morning. You’ve already suffered long enough.” 

The moonlight reflects the tears in Max’s eyes. It’s clear the pain he’s experiencing isn’t related to the fact that he’s clammy and looks like he’s caught the flu from hell. Michael has seen this look before, too many times. Max is feeling guilty. 

Usually, this is the point where Michael pushes Max’s buttons. Where he gets annoyed at Max for centering Michael’s trauma on himself and refuses to accept any pity. But Michael can only imagine how he would feel if it was Max that had been taken away from him for five whole months to be tortured and experimented on. He knows how much it sucked when Max was dead and in that pod for months on end while they struggled to revive him. He’d never felt more helpless and frustrated in his life. 

“I’m good for now,” he tries to assure him. “I can breathe better and my heart feels stronger.” 

Max gives him a doubtful look, and so Michael takes a big deep breath in and out as a demonstration. 

“I shouldn’t have had to heal you,” Max says, his voice strained and heavy with emotion. “You never should have been taken in the first place.” 

“Wouldn’t that have been nice,” he says. 

Max opens and closes his mouth several times like he wants to say something, but keeps holding himself back. 

“Maybe we should give them a moment alone?” Isobel suggests, looking right at Alex. 

Alex’s entire body tenses up and the hand Alex has on his arm squeezes tightly. Michael studies his face, and even as Alex tries for neutral, Michael can sense his stress. 

“Sure, right,” Alex says, looking down at him with a smile clearly meant to hide his reluctance to leave. “If that’s what you want?” 

It’s not that Michael wants to be alone. He’s had enough alone time to last a lifetime. He’d prefer a room full of people, reminding him he’s home and never has to go back to that awful place. The thought of being left alone makes his skin crawl and his heart squeeze painfully. But he won’t be alone, he’ll be with Max. Max, who, despite all of their differences over the years, would burn the world to the ground for him. 

“It’s fine,” he tells Alex. 

Alex nods, kissing the side of his head before letting go. It takes much longer than it should to get out of bed, and when he does, he fusses with the blankets and the pillows. 

“Alex,” Michael says, then waits until he has his full attention. “I’m fine.” 

“Right,” Alex says. He takes a deep breath and gives his shoulder one last squeeze before he walks backwards towards the door, all the while keeping his gaze on Michael. “We’ll just be on the other side of the door if you need anything, okay?” 

Michael gives him a reassuring smile that seems to give him the strength to turn around and step out of the room. Once the door is closed, Max turns back to him with an amused look. 

“What?” he asks.

Max smiles at him, looking back towards the door for a moment, then again at Michael. He pats his leg. “It’s good to have you back.” 

“Miss me?” 

“Shockingly,” Max teases for a moment before his shoulders slump and his face grows sad. “But seriously, our family doesn’t function without you.” 

“I find that hard to believe.” 

“I’m being serious, Michael,” he says, and though it’s difficult to believe that anyone can really care about him after everything he’s gone through, he can hear the sincerity in Max’s voice. “It’s been a long 5 months.” 

“Trust me, I know.” 

Max looks up at the ceiling, his face doing that weird grimacing thing he does when he’s trying not to cry. 

“Sorry,” Michael says awkwardly. He shouldn’t push. He’s spent the last five months of his life thinking he would never get to see his brother again. He doesn’t want their reunion to be a fight. He’d promised himself if he ever made it back home again, that he would work on his relationships. That he would do better. That he would be better. That he would be the kind of man that his siblings could be proud of. That Alex could be proud of. 

“You’re not the one that needs to apologize,” Max says, shaking his head, tears start falling from his eyes as he looks at Michael. “I’m  _ so _ sorry, Michael. I should have been there. I should have protected you. I should have been able to find you. I just…” Max pauses as his hands curl into fists. He looks like he wants to punch something, but thankfully, that something doesn’t seem to be Michael. 

“It’s okay,” he says. 

“It’s not okay.” Max rubs his face in frustration. “What happened to you, it…” he trails off, shaking his head, before looking back at Michael. “What happened to you?” 

Michael shrugs, looking away. He’s not ready to talk about it. The memory is still too fresh, too traumatic. If he thinks about it for more than a few seconds at a time, he’ll smell the antiseptic. He’ll feel the restraints around his wrists. It’s too easy to get pulled back into that lab and his dirty cell. 

“Sorry, I just…” Max trails off, helpless. 

Neither of them have been able to communicate with each other effectively in years. And if the trauma of Max dying didn’t bring them back together, why should Michael’s kidnapping do so?

“You know you can talk about it. Whenever you’re ready.” 

“With you?” Michael raises his eyebrows at him doubtfully and Max sighs, putting his head in his hands. They both stay silent. The unspoken words between them hang heavy in the air. 

Michael isn’t sure what to say to break the awkward silence. So he just sits and waits it out. Max will eventually say something, he knows. He can’t help himself. He’s never been good at letting things go. 

“I don’t understand,” Max eventually says, turning and situating himself on the bed so he’s more comfortable. Settling in for a longer conversation. 

“What?” 

“When Isobel has been in trouble, I’ve always been able to feel it,” he says. 

“Yeah, your freaky twin thing.” 

Max shakes his head. “But we aren’t twins. Not really. We aren’t even related.” 

“What’s your point?” Michael asks, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. His body still aches and he’s tired, even with a newly healed lung and heart. 

“I’ve never been able to feel you,” he says. “Not since we were kids. I mean, when we were younger, I could sense you. That’s how we found you out at Foster Ranch. But that went away too.” 

“Maybe I’m defective,” Michael says, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. 

“I don’t think you’re defective. I think that I don’t feel you when you’re in danger because you’ve never wanted me to,” he explains. 

“You think I intentionally cut you off?” Michael snorts. That’s rich. 

“No, I just…” Max struggles to find the right words. “I think you don’t trust me. Not really. And that’s why you don’t reach out when you’re in pain. You never have.” 

“So it’s my fault you couldn’t feel me and rescue me earlier,” he says, bitterly, refusing to let Max see how his words hurt. 

Of course it’s Michael’s fault. He’s broken. Always has been. 

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Max says, frustrated. 

“Sure sounds like it.” 

Max rubs his face again and looks up at the ceiling for a complete count of ten before turning back to him. 

“I’m saying it’s my fault,” Max says. Michael can see the tears in his eyes and it makes his heart twist uncomfortably. “You’ve never felt safe, and god, why would you have? After Rosa died, I should have done better. I shouldn’t have been so judgmental and tried to tell you what to do all the time. I should have listened more. I should have been there for you.” 

“So why weren’t you?” Michael’s always wondered, but never dared ask because he was fairly certain he knew the answer. Max blamed him for what happened with Isobel. Michael had been the one to blow off Max’s concerns about her. 

“Because I felt guilty,” he admits. “Your life was falling apart because of what happened. You gave up UNM and with it, any real chance of a future. Meanwhile, I still had the family and the money. I still got my future.” 

“And I got nothing,” Michael says with a knowing nod. 

“Yes.” 

Michael scoffs. “Max, do you realize how elitist that sounds? Just because I didn’t go to UNM, doesn’t mean my life has been worthless.” 

“You haven’t been happy in years,” Max argues. “I’m not sure you’ve ever been happy.”

Michael sighs. “My happiness isn’t your responsibility, Max.” 

“Isn’t it?” he asks, his voice raising in anger and frustration. “We’re family, Michael. Despite everything that’s happened between us, you are my brother and I love you. I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy and safe.” 

Max reaches out to place his hand on Michael’s calf and squeezes it. 

“Okay…” Michael isn’t sure what to do with his words. He loves Max too, but they aren’t the kind of guys to say that to each other. They rarely even show each other affection. Not since they were in high school. That’s part of the reason it had been so easy for Michael to believe that Max wouldn’t care that he was gone.

“I should have done better,” Max says, his voice tight with emotion. And it tugs at Michael’s heart strings. 

“Maybe…” 

Maybe it’s the trauma talking, but Michael feels more empathetic than defensive. He doesn’t want to push at Max’s buttons. He’s not going to argue with Max or accuse him of centering himself in the narrative. With everything that Michael just went through, he doesn’t want this distance between them. They’ve had enough distance to last a lifetime. He just wants his brother back. 

“But maybe we both could have,” Michael says, gesturing to the empty spot beside him on the bed. Max looks like he wants to move, but holds himself back. 

“I should have been able to find you,” Max argues. 

“I’m here now.” 

“No thanks to me.” 

Michael sighs and rolls his eyes, the tiniest hint of a smile on his face. Max always has been so incredibly emo, and it’s nice to see that things haven’t changed in his absence. 

“No. Thanks to a girl that you saw fit to bring into our family,” Michael says. “I never wanted her to be a part of this. You brought her in.”

Max laughs bitterly. “Yeah, and she’s probably the reason you got captured.” 

Michael really does not understand what he’s talking about. But given how often everyone keeps bringing it up, and the glares Liz has been getting, there’s a solid chance Genoryx had something to do with his kidnapping. He should be angry. He should be infuriated like the rest of them. But he’s not.

It’s difficult to be mad at the one person who showed up for him. Who risked her life to save him. He’d been so convinced nobody was ever coming for him. He’d given up all hope. And then there she was. And with no reason to. Liz didn’t owe him anything. He’s not her soulmate. He’s not her brother. He’s just a friend. And not a particularly good one either… He hadn’t answered a single one of her texts since she left for California. Still, she’d come for him. 

“I don’t know what happened,” Michael says. “But I know she’s the one that dragged me out of that hellhole, and she took a bullet for me while doing so. Maybe you shouldn’t be so hard on her. Or yourself.” 

Max bites his lips as silent tears fall. Michael gestures once more to his side, and Max crawls across the bed until he’s sitting beside Michael. Michael’s never really been great at stuff like this. He’s never been good about reaching out. His pride always gets in his way. But pride seems like a silly thing to hold onto in the face of everything. 

So he lets himself lean into Max until their shoulders are resting against each other. Max gives him a shaky smile. 

“I’m really glad you’re back.” 

“Me, too.” 


	3. I will be your lighthouse keeper

Michael sits on the bench in Alex’s bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He hardly recognizes himself. He’s thinner and paler than he’s ever been in his life. His hair is a tangled, matted mess and has lost a lot of its usual spring. The bags under his eyes are dark and his entire face looks bruised. He can only imagine what he looked like before Max healed him. He hardly looks human anymore. 

Perhaps that’s why it was so easy for them to treat him like the alien he is. 

He runs his hands up and down his arms, tracing over the track marks and scars that Max couldn’t heal. There are so many, and most of them he doesn’t even remember getting. They’d done so many experiments and exams on him, it was hard to keep track. A true lab rat. 

He’s supposed to be showering. Getting out of these god awful clothes and washing away the grime of months of captivity. But he’d taken one look at himself in the mirror, and suddenly he was too overwhelmed to move. The reality of everything he’s been through keeps hitting him like a freight train. It’s all too much and he can’t see a way out of the darkness. 

There’s a soft knock on the door, quickly followed by Alex’s voice. “You doing okay in there?” 

He opens his mouth to say that he’s alright, but nothing comes out. The words get caught in his throat and there’s a heavy weight on his chest. The walls feel a lot closer suddenly and his eyes water. 

“Michael?” Alex says again, and he can hear the concern in his voice. 

His mouth opens and closes, but again, nothing comes out. The air feels as if it’s being sucked out of the room. 

“I’m coming in,” he says. And a moment later, the door opens slightly and Alex peeks his head in. The moment his eyes land on Michael, they grow worried. He steps into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. The click of the lock sliding into place is deafening. His heart squeezes painfully. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says, crouching down in front of Michael. “Just breathe.” 

Michael’s eyes stay on the locked door and the weight on his chest grows heavier. Alex follows his line of sight and quickly unlocks the door. 

“It’s not locked. You can leave any time,” he says in a calm, even voice. “You are okay here. You’re safe.” 

Safe. It’s an interesting choice of words when he feels like he’s suffocating. 

“Okay, okay, babe, just do what I do,” he says, moving into Michael’s line of sight and trying to get Michael to focus on him. He can’t. Everything feels a thousand miles away. “In through your nose for three long counts, then out through your mouth. Again…” 

Michael shakes his head. He can’t. 

“I’m going to touch you. Stop me if that’s not okay,” he says, then waits a minute, but Michael doesn’t stop him. He can’t do anything. His body feels paralyzed. 

Alex takes both of Michael’s hands in his own. He rests one of them against Alex’s chest and places the other one against Michael’s stomach. “I want you to breathe in deep, all the way from your belly. You should feel it. Try to match my breathing.” 

Michael tries to breathe in deep, but he can’t. He’s not getting enough air. He grabs at Alex’s shirt and pulls on it, trying to get him to understand the urgency. He needs Kyle. He’s suffocating. 

“You’re having a panic attack. Max healed your ribs and your airway is fine. Kyle checked you out earlier, remember?” Alex says. “Your brain is panicking and making you feel like you can’t breathe. You just have to push through. I know you can. You’re so strong. I just need you to breathe for me.” 

Michael does his best to match Alex’s breathing, but it’s nearly impossible and the harder it becomes, the more his heart pounds. Maybe he’s having a heart attack? 

“You are okay. They can’t get you as long as you’re with me,” Alex assures him. “Max and Isobel are just on the other side of that door. Kyle, Liz, Maria, and Rosa are in the living room. Your family is here and we won’t let anything happen to you again. Just breathe for me.” 

“Can’t,” he gasps, tugging on Alex’s shirt more firmly. 

“Okay, okay.” Alex drops his hands and moves them to frame his face, leaning his forehead against Michael’s. “I want you to think of five things you can see right now and tell me what they are.” 

Michael shakes his head. 

“It’s okay, take your time,” he says. “Then tell me what you see.” 

Michael takes several more gulps of air, still struggling. “You.” 

“That’s one. What else?” 

“Mirror.” 

“Good, you’re doing good,” Alex says, running his thumbs over his cheekbones. “Three more, babe.” 

He shakes his head. He can’t see anything else. It’s all blurry. The room feels like it’s spinning. 

“You can do this,” Alex assures him. “Me, the mirror, what else?” 

“Door.” 

“Good, two more.” 

Michael’s hands both grab at Alex’s shirt and hold him close, praying he doesn’t leave. 

“Sink.” 

“Great. That’s so good.  _ You’re _ so good. You’re almost there, last one.” 

Michael blinks his eyes several times until things come slightly more into focus. “Towels.” 

Alex kisses his forehead. “That’s right. That’s great,” he smiles at him and Michael can see he’s crying. “Now four things you can touch.” 

“Shirt,” Michael says, taking in a big gulp of air. It burns his lungs, but he tries for another, then another. 

“Keep going.” 

Michael loosens his grip on Alex’s shirt, earning him an encouraging smile. He reaches one hand out to the side and touches the cool floor. 

“Tile, rug.” 

“That’s three, one more.” 

Michael leaves his hand on the tile, the cool material against his feverish body helping him feel more grounded. Instead, he lets go of Alex's shirt with his other hand and lets it fall to Alex’s thigh. 

“Jeans.” 

Alex kisses his forehead again. “I’m so proud of you. Keep breathing, just like that. You’re doing so good.” 

“My chest hurts,” he admits. 

“It’ll feel better once you keep breathing, just like you are,” he promises. “Tell me three things you can hear.” 

“You,” Michael says. He tries to match Alex’s breaths, reminding himself that he’s not dying. He’s just got to breathe. “They are watching something out there… I can’t tell what.” 

“Home Alone,” Alex smiles. “Good.” 

“That’s my favorite movie,” Michael says.

“Why do you think we are watching it?” he says with a smile that would be flirtatious if Alex weren’t crying. “We had it on earlier before you showed up on my doorstep.” 

Michael lets out a shaky laugh, tears falling from his eyes. He doesn’t know how long he’s been crying. “Thinking about me were you, Manes?” 

“We all were,” he says, letting his hands fall to Michael’s shoulders. Alex stares at him in complete awe, and Michael can only blush and look away. 

Alex clears his throat, dropping his hands to his sides. “One more. What do you hear?” 

“Your faucet is leaking,” he says, commenting on the steady drip, drip, drip, that he’s been hearing. “How long has that been going on?”

Alex is notorious for ignoring minor issues until they become big ones. As Alex’s mechanic, he can confirm this. 

“I haven’t had time to get it fixed.” 

“I can fix it,” Michael tells him. 

Alex shakes his head. “Why don’t you focus on getting yourself better first. Tell me two things you can smell.” 

“I’m good now,” he says. He still feels like he’s disconnected from his own body, but he’s no longer hyperventilating and in danger of passing out. His heart seems to have settled as well. 

“Good, but we aren’t done,” Alex tells him. “Two things you can smell.” 

“Where did you learn this trick?” he asks, curious. 

“You think you’re the only person who’s had trauma induced panic attacks?” 

“So some Air Force shrink then?” Michael comments. 

Alex smirks at him, rolling his eyes. “Two things you can smell, Guerin.” 

Hearing Alex call him Guerin again makes him feel slightly more normal… Or at least, like normal is a possibility for him. Some day. 

He takes a big breath in through his nose, paying attention to what he smells. His brow furrows as he realizes something. 

“Did you stop wearing Calvin Klein?” he asks. 

Alex shrugs. “Hasn’t been much of a reason to wear cologne in a while.” 

Which is weird. Michael would have thought with Forrest around, Alex would have plenty of reason to want to smell nice. 

“What do you smell?” 

Michael snorts. “Persistent as ever, I see,” he says. “I smell myself. Which is disgusting. I don’t know how you’re sitting this close to me.” 

“You were gone for five months. I was terrified you were dead. I really couldn't care less what you smell like, so long as you’re here.” 

Michael tears up again and looks away before he embarrasses himself by crying. “I wasn’t sure you would care,” he mumbles, not sure if he really wants Alex to hear or not. 

“That someone kidnapped you?” Alex says, shocked and clearly offended. “Of course I cared. I was devastated.” 

Michael grits his teeth against a wave of emotion. 

“There was not a single day that I didn’t miss you so badly it hurt.” 

Michael nods and bites his tongue. He wants to lash out. To yell at him and ask why he didn’t come find him. Question how he could have let him stay in a place like that for so long if he cared. But then there’s another part of him that is just so relieved to hear that somebody cared about him. That needs Alex to be telling him the truth. 

“What?” Alex asks. 

Michael shakes his head, not wanting to start a fight when he’s only just come home. 

“Talk to me,” he pleads, his eyes watering. “I’m not a mind reader.” 

“You never came,” he whispers. 

Tears fall down Alex’s face. Each one feels like a stab to his chest. 

“I didn’t know where you were,” he cries. “I looked everywhere. I hacked into every military database I could, then I moved onto NSA, the FBI, and CIA. I hacked Genoryx. I hacked every major big pharma company, thinking it was some Old Guard type situation. When that got me nowhere, I started hacking foreign government databases. I tried everything I could to find you. Max has been traveling all over the country, blindly, just searching for anything that could give us a clue. We had no idea where to even start. Even when some kids found your tow truck abandoned and stripped, it got us nothing.” 

Alex looks awful. Now that Michael’s focused on him, he can see that. There are dark circles under his eyes. He can see the stress etched into his face. He’s thinner than usual, and his hair looks like it hasn’t been washed in days. He couldn’t even guess how long it’s been since Alex has shaved. 

“Trust me when I say this, we looked. Every single one of those 156 days you were gone, we looked,” Alex says. 

Michael looks up at him in wonder. 

“What?” 

“You counted?” he asks. 

“What? Of course I counted. Did you really not think that we would look for you?” Alex asks, sounding hurt. 

Michael shrugs. “I did, at first… But after the first few weeks, it got hard to have any real hope. Only thing that kept me going was that they didn’t get Max and Isobel when they got me. And that you would be better off without me around.” 

Alex takes a big gulp of air and looks up at the ceiling as tears stream down his face. “You’re such an asshole. In what universe would I ever be better off without you?” he says to the ceiling. 

His heart twists painfully at Alex’s words. He reaches out and places a hand on Alex’s thigh, but he refuses to meet his gaze. Alex crosses his arms and looks like he’s trying to hold himself together. Michael has never handled seeing Alex in pain well. It’s his downfall every time. 

Alex’s reaction is as confusing as it is frustrating. It’s impossible to ever get a read on him. One minute he’s here and the next he’s gone. Their entire relationship has been one giant zig and zag and Michael’s has never been able to anticipate the twists and turns. He’s just been along for the ride and accepted whatever he could get. 

So is it any wonder that Michael believed Alex was better off without him? He’d tried to have faith at first. He’d truly believed Alex would come for him, and then he didn’t. How was Michael to know that he was trying? That he was working himself to the bone, searching for any lead? He’d just assumed that Alex had moved on. That he’d finally realized this back and forth between them was pointless and leading nowhere. 

Seeing how hurt Alex is, it seems silly that he ever believed Alex didn’t care. 

“Maybe it was easier to think that the world was better off without me than to worry about everyone when there was nothing I could do about it,” he says. 

It’s the olive branch he needed, because Alex finally meets his gaze. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and takes a steadying breath. “I guess I can’t blame you for that,” Alex says. “How are you feeling?” 

He’s about to say fine, but the warning look in Alex’s eyes has him settling for the truth. “Like I got hit with a mack truck.” 

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Alex says with a nod. “You’re breathing easier. And your eyes are more focused.” 

“Yeah… I feel more steady. Grounded. Thanks.” 

Alex smiles at him and it warms his heart. He still can’t believe that he’s actually here. That he’s home. He never thought he’d get this. 

“You ready for that shower?” 

“What happened to ‘I couldn't care less what you smell like as long as you’re here?’” Michael asks. He tries to laugh, but it comes out shaky and breathless. Still, it feels good to laugh again. 

“I might not care what you smell like, but I’d like to be able to run my fingers through your hair again,” Alex admits. 

Michael reaches up to feel his hair, grimacing at how crusty his curls are. Alex has a point. He’s disgusting and would appreciate a nice, warm shower. They hosed him off from time to time and every time they operated on him, there were plenty of iodine wipe downs, but he’d never truly been able to bathe. 

He stands up with a grimace, his body protesting the movement. Max healed the worst of his pain, but he’s still littered with bruises and his muscles are still weak from disuse. Alex stands up with him. 

“I guess I should leave you to it then,” Alex says, sounding regretful, eyes trained on him. 

“I’ll try to make it quick.” 

Alex turns for the door and Michael lifts his arms to pull off his shirt and cries out in pain. His shoulder throbbing with the movement. Alex turns towards him, looking horrified. 

“Michael?” Max yells through the door. 

“What’s going on?” Isobel asks. 

“I’m fine,” Michael says, not wanting to worry them. He sends Alex a pleading look, begging him not to give him away. 

“I’ve got him, he’s alright,” Alex calls out before turning back to him. “Why don’t I help you get into the shower at least?” 

Michael nods, it’s probably a good idea. Alex grabs his shirt by the hem and pulls it up. Michael goes to raise his arms again and whimpers in pain, so Alex drops the shirt. 

“Maybe we should just cut it off,” Alex says, moving towards the built-in cabinets in the corner. 

“What if I wanted to save this?” Michael asks, and Alex gives him a look like he’s insane. “Joking.” 

“You’d better be.” Alex walks back over with scissors and helps Michael cut the fabric off. He looks down at his pants in question and Michael rolls his eyes. 

“I think I can get those off on my own, Manes. But glad to know you’re so eager,” he says. 

He turns his back to Alex, fingers hooked in his waistband, ready to take off the rest of his clothes. Alex gasps in shock and he winces. Michael looks over his shoulder. Alex is staring at his back in horror. 

“I’m sure you’ve seen worse, being to war and all,” he says, shifting uncomfortably. 

Alex shakes his head, his hand reaching out tentatively to rest against Michael’s back. The touch sends a shiver down his spine. He’s still not used to being touched with anything but anger and fear. 

“That’s different,” he whispers, moving closer to Michael until he’s nearly pressed against his back. 

“How?” Michael asks. Torture is torture, doesn’t matter what the objective is. 

“It’s you,” Alex says, wrapping his arms around Michael and bringing his hands up to rest against his chest. He buries his face in Michael’s neck and kisses his shoulder. If it weren’t for the wetness hitting his skin, he wouldn’t know that Alex was crying. 

“I’m home,” he says, his voice breaking. It’s something they both need to hear. 

“I’m sorry, I’m supposed to be comforting you. Not the other way around.” 

Michael reaches up to hold on to Alex’s hands, keeping him in place, breathing in deep, enjoying the feeling of having Alex so close. If he’s being honest with himself, he’s touch starved. He’s always craved the affection of others, and these last five months have increased that need. 

“Having you here with me is comfort enough,” he says. 

Alex kisses his shoulder one more time before pulling back away. He reaches past Michael to turn the shower on. 

“I can sit out here if you think you might need help,” he offers, like it’s not a big deal and he doesn’t care. But Michael can read him fairly well. Alex needs to wait here, he doesn’t want to be asked to leave. And if Michael is being honest, he isn’t really comfortable being alone. He’s had enough space to last a lifetime. 

“Or you could just shower with me,” he offers. 

Alex’s eyebrows nearly go up to the ceiling. “Shower with you?” 

“Sorry, I guess that’s too much. You have a boyfriend and all. So… yeah. You can wait out here if you want.” 

“I don’t—” Alex says, his voice high and slightly desperate. He pauses and clears his throat, this time more composed, “I don’t have a boyfriend.” 

That catches Michael’s attention. “You and Forrest?” He tries not to sound too hopeful. 

“We broke up months ago,” he says. “Five months ago to be exact.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says, because it sounds like he’s to blame for the breakup and it’s what you’re supposed to say or something. 

“Are you?” Alex asks, one eyebrow raised. 

Michael shrugs. Of course he’s not, but he’s not an asshole either. “I want you to be happy.” 

“I haven’t been happy. Not since you went missing… If I’m being honest with myself, I haven’t been happy in a long time,” Alex admits. 

Michael crosses his arms, protecting himself, screaming at himself not to get his hopes up. His heart feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest. 

“What are you saying?” he asks, his voice wavering. 

“That Forrest has nothing to do with why I’m not sure I can shower with you.” 

“Oh.” 

Alex gestures down to his leg. He can see the metal of the prosthesis in the small space where his sweatpants end and his socks begin. “It’s just a logistical nightmare.” 

Michael pauses, thinking through the situation. He looks back at the shower, then at Alex again. “There’s a bench in there.” 

“One you might need,” Alex says pointedly. “You’re not very steady on your feet right now.” 

“We can share.” He sends Alex what he hopes is a flirtatious smile, but given how awful he looks, he isn’t sure it will have the same appeal as it’s had in the past. 

The corner of Alex’s mouth twitches in the tiniest hint of a smile. Michael knows that smile well. It means Alex is just a hop, skip, and a jump to a yes. 

“I mean, realistically, I probably will need help washing my hair,” he says. It’s not a line, it’s true. He’d manage, but it would be so much easier if somebody helped him. 

“Well now, that’s just not playing fair. You know how much I love playing with your hair,” Alex says, rolling his eyes. 

“I’ve been gone for five months, I don’t have to play fair.”

Michael pulls his pants off and throws them towards the trash can, wanting to be rid of them forever. He’s about to step into the shower when Alex grabs his wrist. Michael looks up expectantly, but Alex says nothing, he just studies his face. 

“Everything okay?” 

“I love you,” Alex says. The words leave Michael breathless. Confused and breathless. 

“I should have told you that before. There are so many times I could have told you, but I didn’t. I was scared. So I talked in past tense and pretended it wasn’t important. Told myself there would always be time to tell you later…” Alex is speaking so fast that Michael can barely catch his words, much less fully register them. “I’ve been so worried that you were dead and that you’d never know the truth. So I just… I need you to know. Now. Before anything else happens. I need you to know and I need you to believe me. I love you.” 

Michael wants to say something smooth in return. Like that it’s okay. That he’d always known, but the truth is he hadn’t. He’d never been sure of Alex’s feelings. Not once. He hadn’t known back then, and he really hadn’t known now. 

“You don’t have to say anything back,” Alex continues to ramble. “I don’t expect you to. Lord knows I don’t deserve it. I never have. Not back then, when I was too scared to be there for you in the ways you needed. And certainly not now that I promised to protect you and then couldn't even find you for months… But I need you to know. I need to know that I told you how I feel in case, god forbid, I never get another chance.” 

“Alex, stop,” Michael says. As adorable as it is to see Alex rambling and expressing his feelings for a change, he needs him to stop. Alex goes quiet and his eyes fall to the floor. Michael steps closer to him, putting a finger under his chin and guiding his face until he’s meeting his eyes. “I love you too.” 

Alex sniffles, but smiles. “Even though I didn’t come for you?” 

“The soldier part of you is the least attractive part of you, so yeah. I love you even though you didn’t come for me. Though… I wish you had. You’d have made a much more effective breakout buddy than Ortecho and Diego.” 

Alex’s eyebrows furrow in confusion as Michael pulls away. “I’m sorry, did you say Diego?” 

“Yep.” 

“I’m going to need more details,” Alex says, giving him an expectant look. 

“Can we at least shower first?” 

Alex gestures to the shower as if to say, ‘if you insist.’ 

Michael steps under the warm water and lets out a moan that should probably be shameful, but he can’t be bothered to care. 

“Should I leave you two alone in there?” Alex teases as he gets himself ready to join. 

Michael watches the water run down his body, turning nearly black by the time it hits the ground and heads to the drain. It should disgust him, how gross he is, but it doesn’t. It’s calming in a way. Therapeutic. Watching the dirt and grim wash away reminds him that the dirt and grime isn’t all he is. He is somebody underneath all the fifth, he just has to find it again.

Perhaps it could really be that simple. He could just pick up the soap and wash away the last five months and it could be like they never happened. He could start again. Start new. 


	4. bring you safely home to me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for going on this journey with me! It's been nice to be writing again <3

Michael lays naked and strapped down to a cool metal table. Bright lights from a surgical lamp above nearly blind him, but he can make out the shapes moving around him well enough for his stomach to drop and his heart to tighten. People in hazmat suits move around the room. They talk about him as if he isn’t wide awake and can hear every word. They refer to him as either the specimen or Prisoner Zero. Here, he has no name. No humanity. He’s simply their lab experiment. 

His heart pounds in his chest so loudly that it’s difficult to hear. The conversation in the room sounds muted. Distant. He can only make out every other word or so, but he does his best to stay alert and aware of their plans. 

His body shivers, but it’s unclear if that’s from the cold metal beneath him or fear. He calls out for them to let him go, but they ignore him. Nobody even glances in his direction. He tries to focus his energy on the restraints around his wrists. He strains, calling on every ounce of power he has in his tank, but nothing happens. He grunts as he continues to push, eventually screaming out in frustration when reality sinks in. 

His powers won’t come. He’s helpless. All he gets for his trouble is a migraine and the feeling like he’s going to throw up. 

He tugs on his restraints, trying to use his own physical strength to break him free of this hell. He struggles, and tugs, and pulls so hard that his wrist pops out of its socket and his vision swims with stars. He grits his teeth and closes his eyes, refusing to cry. Refusing to let these people see him as weak. 

He’s going to die here, but at least he’ll die resisting. 

“Michael?” he hears a surprised gasp. His head snaps to the left to see Isobel standing at his side, looking horrified. 

His body floods with adrenaline and renewed strength as his eyes dart around the room, terrified that they are going to grab her and strap her down as well. 

“You can’t be here,” he whispers frantically, as if that will stop them from noticing she’s there. “You need to leave. Now.” 

Isobel looks around the room, taking in the entire scope of the situation, as her hand moves to cover her mouth. 

“Leave, please,” he says, shaking his head as a tear falls from his eye against his will. 

“No,” she says firmly, moving close enough to touch him, her eyes pointedly staying on his face. Her hand rests against his cheek and the touch should soothe, but he’s too terrified of what they are going to do to her to gain any comfort from it. 

“I can’t watch them hurt you, too,” he pleads with her. 

“This isn’t real,” she says to him. “You’re having a nightmare.” 

“What? No,” he says, shaking his head. But as he looks around, he notices the purple tint to the world around him. Takes notice of how the world doesn’t seem quite right. The men in hazmat suits don’t have faces. The labels on the vials are illegible. His own hand has too many fingers. 

He bites the inside of his cheek as tears continue to fill his eyes. “Get out of my head, Iz,” he says firmly. 

“You are screaming and thrashing around, refusing to wake up. Alex and Max are losing their minds, ready to fight somebody. And Kyle is close to sedating you. Let me help you, please,” she says. 

He closes his eyes as tears fall more freely, shaking his head. “You don’t need to see this.”

“I don’t need you protecting me anymore,” she tells him in that tone she has that leaves no room for argument. “I’m not fragile anymore. Whatever you went through, I can take it. Stop with this macho, white knight crap and let me help you.” 

“Iz—” 

She cuts him off before he can try to convince her to leave. “Michael, please. I’ve been helpless to do much of anything these past several months but sit around and wait. Now, I’m in a position to do something for you. Just let me. I promise that whatever I see, I can handle and will take with me to my grave.” 

Michael doesn’t respond right away. He looks up into her eyes and sees the genuine concern in them. His instincts tell him to push back. To fight dirty if he has to, just to get her to go away. He’s never been comfortable with her in his brain. His entire life has been about hiding, even from Max and Isobel. He doesn’t let people in, because he’s terrified of people seeing him for who he really is. A scared, lost little boy who nobody ever loved. 

“You don’t have to be so strong all the time,” she tells him, running her fingers through his hair in the way he’s always liked but never confessed. “I love you, and nothing I see could change that. For once, let me help you. It’s just me.” 

Against his better judgement, he nods. He’s just so tired of fighting all the time. He’s spent his entire life on high alert, prepared for battle. The last five months, he’s been at war, unable to have a moment's rest. Even now, he’s finally free and back home with his loved ones, and he’s still fighting. 

She’s right. It’s just Isobel. He doesn’t have to be afraid. 

“Close your eyes,” she says. 

He takes several deep breaths before complying. 

“You are in control here,” she says. “This is all happening inside your head. You’re the one with the power. Break free from the restraints.” 

Michael shakes his head. “I can’t. I tried.” 

“Try again,” she says, calmly, in that voice she used that one time she tried to get him to try yoga. 

Michael focuses on the restraints against his wrists, but they don’t budge. His powers don’t come. 

“Picture yourself without restraints around you.” 

He does, and a moment later, the restraints disappear. He pulls his hands up and rubs at his wrists in wonder. He looks around the room again. The men in hazmat suits are all frozen, but he’s still in the lab where they performed all their experiments on him. 

“Don’t look at them, keep your eyes closed,” she instructs. Once he complies, she continues. “These walls around us don’t exist. You aren’t a prisoner, anymore. You are out in the desert, with miles of open space. Free. Unchained. It’s nighttime and the stars are shining brightly above you.” 

Michael feels a change in the air. Rather than the cool burst of air hitting him from a vent above, he feels the gentle breeze against his skin. He can hear the wind against the sand. The distant chirping of a cactus wren, the responding coo of an owl. Even further away, the occasional sound of traffic. If he listens carefully enough, he can hear the pitter patter of what’s probably a lizard. 

It sounds like home, and when he opens his eyes again, he’s laying in the back of his truck in the middle of the desert. He breathes in deep, taking in the sweet, dusty smell of the earth. As the air fills his lungs, he feels a heavy weight lift off of him. He looks up at the stars he knows by heart. Stars he never thought he’d get to see again. 

He used to lie out here for hours on end, searching for his home. But as the breeze tickles his skin and the moonlight paints the world in soft blues and whites, he realizes that he’s already home. This is his home. Always has been. 

“Cool, now can you will yourself some clothes?” Isobel says, destroying the mood in a way only she ever can. 

A moment later, he’s in his favorite pair of jeans and one of his old flannels. She moves to lie down beside him. He’s not sure who reaches for who first, but they end up holding hands as they stare up at the stars together. 

“I wasn’t sure what to wish for.” 

Michael turns to look at her, unsure what she means. She turns her head to look at him and her eyes are watering. 

“When you were gone for so long, I wasn’t sure what to wish for,” she says. “On one hand, I needed you alive more than anything. But I knew if you were still alive, that you were living out our worst nightmare and I didn’t want that for you.”

He squeezes her hand and looks back up at the stars, unable to see the pain in her eyes without wanting to cry himself. 

“Max kept insisting that you were still alive, and…” she has to pause as she sobs. “Part of me was just praying… Praying that they’d killed you. That you wouldn’t have to live through what your mom lived through.” 

He tugs on her hand until she rolls over and he can wrap his arms around her as she cries into his chest. “I’m a horrible person.” 

“You’re not,” he assures her. He won’t say this to her, but there were moments he had the same thought. That dying would be preferable to 70 years in captivity.

“I love you so much,” she says. “I’m so sorry.” 

He kisses the top of her head and holds her tight, taking comfort in the open display of love she’s showing, even if her tears stab at his heart. It’s proof that she cares, and for a long time, he wasn’t sure anyone did. 

“I’m just glad it wasn’t you,” he says. 

“It should have been me,” she admits. The confession sends an icy chill through him. 

“What?” 

“I’m the evil one. I’m the one that’s killed people—” 

“That was Noah,” he cuts her off. 

“With  _ my _ hands,” she protests. “If they wanted somebody to experiment on, they should have taken me. What have you ever done to deserve this?” 

The thought of Isobel in that lab instead of him, getting cut open just to see how she ticks, isn’t something his brain can even process. It’s too horrible. Michael wouldn’t have survived that. 

“If getting taken meant they left you alone, I’d do it again,” he says, leaving no room for argument. 

She snorts, though she doesn’t look remotely amused. “You and Max are such martyrs. I hate it.” 

Michael doesn’t disagree that Max is a martyr. He always has been, and that proved itself when he died so that Rosa Ortecho could be brought back to life. His stupid hero complex got him killed. He’d sacrificed himself to right a wrong that had been done by them all those years ago, one that caused many of their friends a great deal of pain. 

Michael isn’t like that. Not really. He’s not noble, nor does he have some white knight complex. If he’s thrown himself on the sword for Isobel, it’s because she’s always had so much more to live for than him. Because her future has always been brighter. She’s the rich, pretty socialite that everyone adores, and he’s the bratty street rat that people barely tolerate. It’s always been like that. And he never saw a point in letting Isobel suffer in the ways he always did. He was already filthy. What was one more trauma if it meant Isobel could stay clean? 

She shifts around so they are shoulder to shoulder and can look up at the stars together. It surprises Michael when Isobel asks him to point out the constellations. She’s never had an interest in the stars. She used to tease him endlessly about his obsession with the desert. She never needed a home in the sky like he did. She was always perfectly content where she was, so long as she had Max and him at her side. She didn’t get it. Her life was too perfect to understand… But now, he thinks that he might have been the one who didn’t get it all these years. 

“Hey.” He squeezes her hand to get her attention and waits for her to look at him. “Thank you.” 

“For what?” she asks, confused. 

“Getting me out of there.” 

She looks back up at the stars, her face pained. “I didn’t rescue you, Michael. Liz did.” 

“Yeah, well… kind of feels like you did,” he says. 

She looks back at him, confused. She observes him, calculating. She’s trying to read him. Eventually, she comes to understand. She brings his hand up to kiss the back of it, keeping their fingers laced together. Not letting go. Never letting go again. 

“I love you. It wasn’t home without you,” she tells him, the words going a long way to heal the hurt of the last several months. The physical torture was brutal, but perhaps the most painful part of captivity is the doubt it created. 

He laughs her comment off to keep from crying, looking away from her and back up at the sky. “When did Isobel Evans get so sentimental?” 

“When my brother got taken from me and tortured for months.” 

He looks back at her, and does his best to sound reassuring as he says, “I’m home now.” 

“I know. Merry Christmas,” she says with a smile, leaning over to kiss his cheek. He blushes and tries to hide his smile, not wanting her to know how much he appreciates her affection. 

“I hope you know Kyle burnt the prime rib and Max blew the fuse on the oven the morning of Christmas Eve before leaving to search for you again. He refused to celebrate Christmas without you,” she complains. 

“Well, good to know I’m needed.”

And it is. Good to know that he’s needed. That his presence was missed. 

“Always.” 

****

The clock on Alex’s nightstand reads 4am. Everyone else has been asleep for nearly an hour, but Michael can’t rest. It doesn’t matter how tired he is. He’s too scared to close his eyes. Nervous that he’ll wake up and this will have all been a dream. 

Alex is at his back, arms wrapped around him protectively. His breath is tickling his neck, reminding him of his presence. Isobel is cuddled into his chest, her hand has a fistful of his sweatshirt, as if reassuring herself that he can’t go anywhere. Max is curled up at the foot of the bed, using Isobel’s legs as a pillow. Even in sleep, he looks stressed. Kyle is passed out hard in the armchair, head thrown back and snoring loudly. And if he moved his head, he’d find a pile of pillows and blankets on the floor being shared by Rosa and Maria. 

He’s safe here. Protected and well loved. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time, maybe not ever. Which is why it’s so hard for him to relax into the feeling and let himself rest. 

So when Liz comes to stand in the doorway, he’s wide awake to see it. 

“I thought you were sleeping in the living room,” he whispers, not wanting to wake anyone. 

Liz shrugs and leans against the door, crossing her arms. He can’t make out her face that clearly, but she looks like she’s crying. 

“Space is overrated,” he says, guessing at the reason she’s still awake. 

She tip toes into the room quietly, careful to avoid stepping on any limbs, until she’s close enough that they can hear each other better. 

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” she asks. 

“Shouldn’t you?” 

She raises her eyebrows and nods her head as if to say, ‘Touch é .’ 

“What’s up, Ortecho?” he asks. She clearly came in here for a reason, not that her presence isn’t welcome. Michael isn’t the one that told her to sleep in the living room. That had been Isobel. 

Liz looks down at Max for a while, hand reaching out and hovering just over his head, clearly wanting to run her fingers through his hair. She stops herself, though. 

“He’ll forgive you,” he says. “Whatever it is, he’ll forgive you.” 

Liz sniffles, retracting her hand quickly. “You don’t know that.” 

“I know that he loves you and always will.” 

“Sometimes love isn’t enough,” she argues. 

Michael gets it. The two of them are cut from the same cloth in so many regards. They both understand that the world is harsh. That relationships fail. People leave. And love doesn’t always conquer all. The world is not some romantic comedy with a happy ending all the time. 

But he can’t help but think that Liz and Max will work it out. Max loves Liz way too much to let anything ever tear them apart for too long. He’d waited his entire life for the opportunity to love Liz, and he’s not going to just throw it away. 

“Yeah, I know,” he says. “But sometimes it is. For guys like Max, it is.” 

Liz looks back down at Max, and this time she allows herself to reach out and touch his hair. The look of love he sees reflected in her eyes tells him everything he needs to know about Liz. The fact that she could still love his dumb brother despite being an alien, despite being part of the coverup to Rosa’s murder, despite blowing up her lab… She has a good heart.

“Why aren’t you mad at me?” she asks. 

_ Because you’re the one that showed up _ . It’s on the tip of his tongue to say it, but he holds back, knowing it would sound far too depressing and he’s already getting enough pity. 

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be mad at. Nobody will tell me,” he says instead. 

“Genoryx funded the lab that took you,” she says. Straightforward, not beating around the bush. It’s one of the things he appreciates most about Liz. 

From the comments he’s heard Alex, Max, and Isobel make, he’d figured that was a possibility. But everyone has been talking in hypotheticals and maybes. It didn’t sound like anyone had actual confirmation that Genoryx was to blame for it all. 

“I didn’t know they had you,” she hurries to explain, clearly taking his silence for anger. “When Max first called me to tell me you were missing and ask if I knew anything about it, I got offended. We had a huge fight. I honestly had no idea. I thought I knew the people I was working for… But it turns out I was wrong.” 

Micheal can fill in the blanks. He’s not stupid. Liz had been working on developing a super vaccine for all human illnesses using their DNA. It was the reason that Max blew up their lab, destroying a lot of Michael’s work right alongside the work Liz had been doing behind all of their backs. 

“Your research led them to me,” he says. 

She opens her mouth to defend herself, but closes it quickly and nods. 

It makes sense. It’s what Max had always said would happen. It’s why Max hadn’t followed her to California, even though he’d wanted to. Even though he cried nearly every day since she left. 

“When did you know?” he asks.

“I found out about a week ago. Diego approached me, concerned about ethics violations in one of the labs. I helped him investigate and that’s when I realized they had you,” she admits. 

A week. That makes him feel slightly better. It wasn’t like she’d known his location for months and just let him sit in there. She’d found out where he was and put together a plan to break him out. 

“Why didn’t you tell anyone where I was?” he asks, wondering why the rest of his family hadn’t been there with Liz, charging in, guns blazing. Why were they all so shocked to see him show up on the front porch? 

“Max wasn’t taking my calls and… I don’t know,” she says with a shrug, eyes trained to the ground. “I guess I felt guilty. I hoped that Diego and I could rescue you and that you’d be all the apology I’d need.” 

She laughs to herself, bitterly. Obviously she’d miscalculated. It’s clear that simply showing up with Michael in hand isn't going to be enough to endear her to Max and Isobel again. 

“So I was your bargaining chip.” 

Her head shoots up. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she says quickly. 

“Relax, I know.” 

“I’ve never seen Max that mad,” Liz says, wiping the tears from her eyes and crossing her arms. “Even when Isobel gave herself the serum, and we thought she was going to die, he wasn’t that angry at me. But this time, when you were gone, and he thought I was to blame… He was furious.” 

Michael sits up and reaches out for her until she takes his hand. 

“Take it from somebody who’s pissed Max off more times than I can count, he’ll get over it.” 

She squeezes his hand before dropping it. “Will he?” 

“Nine times out of ten, if Max is yelling at somebody, it’s because he’s mad at himself,” he explains. “He feels guilty that I got taken.” 

“Well, there’s plenty of that to go around,” Liz says with another bitter laugh. She wipes her tears again, then rubs her hands together and tries to smile, but fails. 

“Ortecho—” he starts to say, but she cuts him off. 

“I’m sorry, Michael,” she says. “I know it’s meaningless to apologize in the face of all the pain that you went through, but I am sorry. Max tried to warn me and I didn’t listen. I thought I could control the research and keep you guys safe while still getting what I want. It was stupid. I let my pride get the best of me and you were the one to pay the price.” 

It would be really easy for Michael to get angry about this. For him to retreat behind his wall and yell about how this is exactly why they never should have let humans in on their secret in the first place. But he’s just so tired that it’s difficult to feel anything but resigned. 

“How much do these people have?” he asks, rubbing his face. 

It’s not until Liz remains silent that it hits him. He’s not going to like her answer. Genoryx has everything on him. They’d had him for months. Of course they know everything. 

“Okay,” he says, trying to calm the growing panic he feels. The walls feel closer and the air thinner. His chest grows tighter even as he tries to slow his breathing. “How much do I need to worry about them coming back for me?” 

“Diego is taking care of it,” she says, but he hardly feels assured. 

“And why should I trust Diego?” 

“Because he’s the one that sounded the first alarm,” she says, reaching out to place her hands on his shoulders. She’s eyeing him carefully, like she knows he’s about to have a panic attack. “He came to me, unprompted, to tell me they had you and were doing unethical experiments on you. He’s as disgusted as I am.” 

He nods. That much could be true, but what will it matter? If they already know about him, what are two scientists going to do against an entire corporation? 

“I destroyed all of my research. And we set fire to the lab after we got you out,” she tells him, breathing in slowly, trying to get him to do the same. 

“But?” Because he can hear there is one. 

“But I don't know how deep this goes,” she admits. “Diego is going to investigate and try to shut it down, but he’ll probably need help.” 

Of course he’ll need help. Michael drops his head into his hands and tries to get his breathing under control, but it’s hard. He can still hear the guards on the other side of the wall laughing about the torture they’d put him through. He can still feel the paralytic they always gave him moving through his body. 

He can’t go back. 

“I’m not letting them get to you again,” she promises. “Any of you.” 

“Well, that’s comforting,” he says, refusing to look up. “But I’m not sure it’s going to matter. Are you really going to be able to protect me?” 

“Maybe not, but I can,” Alex says, and Michael jumps at the hand suddenly on his back. 

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to listen in. I’m a light sleeper.” 

Michael leans back against Alex, welcoming his embrace. “Just breathe, babe,” he says. “Nothing is going to touch you.” 

“They know who I am,” he argues. 

“I’ll get into Genoryx’s files again in the morning.” 

“I thought you said you didn’t find anything when you hacked them before,” Michael argues. 

Alex rubs slow, comforting circles on his back. “I didn’t. But that was before I knew what to look for. And with Liz’s help, I can find the appropriate data to wipe.” 

“Absolutely,” Liz says. 

“Nobody is taking you away from me, ever again,” Alex whispers into his ear. 

“Promise?” Michael asks. 

“Promise,” Max says. Michael looks up to see that both Max and Isobel are now awake and watching him, determined looks on their faces. 

Isobel hugs him from behind, and Max puts a hand on his shoulder. He closes his eyes and takes comfort in the fact that he’s surrounded by people that love him, completely. No matter what the future holds, he’s not alone. He doesn’t have to be alone ever again.

When he opens his eyes, he can’t help but smile. Liz has her hand on Max’s shoulder, and Max is holding it in place, eyes closed, the weight of the world momentarily gone from his shoulders. He meets Liz’s eyes and smiles. 

Sometimes love is enough. 


End file.
